Skip to main content

Ebb and Flow



Human pain does not let go of its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope.
--Robert Veninga

Living in the country there is no garbage collection service so stowing it out of reach of critters and hauling it to the dump is a ritualistic journey I make frequently. When I arrived at the dump a few days before Christmas, I noticed a large Rubbermaid container filled with photo albums. Curiosity got the better of me and I flipped open the cover of the first. The first several pages were filled with ultrasounds photos and then of a family gathering for the birth of a child. It was filled with smiles and happiness.

I stopped there because I was embarrassed to be snooping and because I realized that all the albums where baby ones. Two of them where new and empty. I pretty much figured out the story. Some tragedy had stricken this family and the memories that had celebrated a life, were now quite literally dumped perhaps in hopes of obliterating pain. I left the albums where they lay. I did not want to participate in this sorrow. Still, I have been bothered since that those memories and a history could be so easily erased in one fell swoop.

From my earliest recollection I remember my Mom telling us that we were making memories together. I suppose that is why this pile of albums struck a chord. Good or bad it is our memories in large part that shape our identity. They are our own very personal history. It is from these that we either move bravely forward or are left in stasis. I agree with Robert Veninga, human pain is neither finite nor unending. It weaves its way through our lives like the ebb and flow of tides. Some of us will sort through the sand and find the treasures in it. Others will be carried away in grief.

Comments

  1. and each grief as unique as the way we chose to handle it

    wonder where those albums are now and if their abandonment will be cause for yet more grief and regret

    hi nauti

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. hi A!

      I have wondered the same about them and the effect in the future. I agree with you. pain is quite personal.

      so good to see you blogging again!! :o)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

all hallows eve

it is the last day of october...all hallows eve.   it is chilly as i sit on my deck soaking up the last warming rays of autumn.  already this week we’ve had a warning of snow.  a degree or so colder would have left my world covered in white softness.  instead we got bone chilling rain.  today though it is bright.  the mountains pop with vivid yellows oranges and reds.  the air teases a hint of someones wood burning stove and of fallen leaves.   a little black feral kitten tugs at my feet for attention.  an occasional nip on my toes reminds me that he is wild.  a neighbor gave him a name and put a collar on him to make him less so.  and though he is sweet the scratch on my toe reminds me that he is still a product of raw nature.  i am enjoying his company as i sit here and write.  it amuses me how cats vie for attentions when the focus is not on them.  in fact i came outside because my own was rubbing he...

The Cicada

For a few weeks now I have had numerous brief encounters with a cicada who moved into my backyard.  I had seen it stuck to the side of my house and the dog took notice too.  Coming home one evening at dusk, I stepped up to the backdoor fumbling with my keys.  A sudden squealing protest came up around me.  It was very like that coming from a cat after it’s tail is stepped on.  I was confused because looking around I saw nothing.  That protest however became more frantic as nanoseconds passed.   Finally I moved my foot to take a wider view when out from under it came the little cicada.  Still protesting, it popped onto it’s back, then righted itself, then took off flying in a short loop that crashed back into me, bumped off and another short directed loop until it had made three aggressive passes at me and flown off for good.  I had to giggle at it's indignation.  And then I marveled that an insect made such a mammalian fuss. ...

Discharged With Honor

I've been thinking about my friend Nancy today. I’ve been sorting though a box of papers that had collected and found a business card she’d given me years ago.   Last month I went to her memorial service. It was, for the most part a moving tribute to her life.   Intermixed where the funereal recitations of the Christian pastor. I tuned out the bits of empty rhetoric that just didn't seem to fit her and listened to those that did. You see Nancy was one-of-a-kind.   She was an irreverent soul with a wicked smile and a heart of gold. Nancy was a nurse. Several weeks before her death I had called her on the phone about a patient consult. She was a wound ostomy specialist.   She told me I'd just caught her as she was heading out the door. She was pretty ill and had a pneumonia that she said came upon her quite suddenly. A few days later she was in hospital. I happened upon her in the hospital elevator a week later looking rather peaked and gaunt.   We talk...